


Don’t Speak

by webcricket



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 08:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10636116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Reader always seems to know exactly what’s on Castiel’s mind (hint – it’s you). NSFW/adult themes – but not explicit.





	

The ruckus of nostalgic alcohol-fueled banter between you and the Winchesters reminiscing about old cases around a rickety motel kitchenette table faded from the forefront of Castiel’s perception. Instead, inquisitive sapphire eyes concentrated their attention on your full pink lips - contemplating the alluring way they pouted around the glass mouth of the sweaty amber beer bottle as you drank a swig, observing the light flick of your tongue swiping traces of bubbling foam, condensation, and salty perspiration from dampened lips, tortured by the gentle toss of your head backward and throat burbling over with easy laughter.

Cas’ thoughts drifted to the act of fellatio he’d stumbled upon and viewed on Dean’s computer the night before while innocently attempting to search through local police reports – he pictured the busty brunette woman too eagerly gagging on the jerking veiny ridged cock of a chiseled faceless groaning man. While he recognized the video was undeniably meant to be physically provocative, having had no experiential reference in receiving oral to build upon, the angel failed to respond with anything but mildly piqued curiosity.

That is, until now.

Maybe it was the dank blazing summer-like heat of the mid-spring night melting the typically reserved manners of his vessel, or maybe it was that post-hunt adrenaline infused lustful high Dean always went on about, but in this moment Cas couldn’t help but wonder what your pretty little mouth might look like stretched around his cock, also pondering the sweet satiated hums that might vibrate from your throat when he finally found release. Palm grazing the rapidly hardening length in his uncomfortably tightening trousers, he stifled a choked growl.

“You okay, Cas?” Sam’s concern penetrated the angel’s reverie.

Eyes bursting wide in evident self-surprise, Cas shifted on the edge of the bed, crossing his legs and folding the edges of the trench coat over his lap. Nervously clearing his throat, he mumbled, “I’m fine.”

“That didn’t sound like fine,” Dean swiveled in the chair, pointing an accusatory beer bottle in Cas’ general direction, chuckling to himself, “you sprain something when you smited that demon? Or is it smote? Smoted?”

“No, it’s,” the angel’s steely gaze floated over the Winchesters to settle on your worry-lined aspect, “it’s nothing.”

Sam and Dean resumed their animated discussion about ganking monsters, but your regard lingered on the fidgeting angel.

Visualizing needful sparkling eyes staring up the planes of his torso as you bobbed up and down his throbbing cock, Cas’ cheeks flushed hotly under your scrutiny.

Reading the tell-tale signs of the angel’s growing arousal from across the room – the dilated pupils, the sweat beading across his furrowed brow, the stubbly jaw slackening, the fists clenching handfuls of tan fabric, the uncharacteristic shallow panting breaths shaking his chest - a knowing smirk touched your mouth.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been the cause of Cas becoming hot and bothered, and as you’d done in the past, he hoped you intended to take the initiative to do something about it before these confusing urges utterly overcame him and he humiliated himself in front of his friends.

Fingers teasingly caressing up and down the length of the smooth glistening glass beer bottle on the table beside you, you sucked your lower lip suggestively between raking teeth.

Captivated by your every movement, his Adam’s apple sank with a thick gulp. The twisting of your wrist around the neck of the bottle sent a shudder pulsing through his body. Now precipitously overwhelmed by the straining twitch of arousal in his pants, his regard fell to the floor.

“All of a sudden I’m starving,” you cooed, turning back to Sam and Dean, pushing up from the table, chair squealing against the cheap linoleum floor, “gonna go grab a quick bite. Something south of the border I think. Something hot and spicy and _divine_. You guys want anything?”

Cas’ mouth parched at your words, tongue swollen and velvety against his teeth.

Dean winced, palm reflexively clutching at his stomach, recollecting across visibly pained features the repercussions the last time he ate Mexican take out, “Thanks, but no thanks sweetheart.”

“Yeah,” Sam shook his head, “pass.”

“Wimps,” you goaded, downing a final sip of beer from your bottle, setting it clanking to the table, “ _you wouldn’t know what heaven tasted like if someone thrust it down your throat and called it by name_.” Your mischievously twinkling eyes flew to the angel, “Wouldn’t you agree, Castiel?”

Cas’ mouth gaped loosely in answer. Here he was, an angel of the Lord, a formidable celestial being, possessing powerful angelic grace, harboring eons of expansive knowledge, and he could not begin to fathom how you managed to intuit with such accuracy precisely what was on his mind. Awestruck, he watched in silence as you sauntered to the door.

Rustling car keys out of your jean pocket, fingers poised over the doorknob, you pivoted on your heel to peer askance over your shoulder at the dawdling angel, “You coming, angel?” Spinning the knob, swinging the creaking wooden door open wide, you flashed him a sultry smile, “Or, are you just going to sit there and stew in your own juices all night?”

Leaping awkwardly to his feet, practically tripping over his own boots in zeal, Cas rushed out the door before you.

* * * * *

“Are we going to talk about-”

“Nope,” Dean cut his brother’s query off. They’d know for months about you and the angel’s extra-curricular activities, neither of them openly acknowledging the matter.

Sam’s eyebrow violently quirked at the rattle of a picture frame and the sound of a body being pressed firmly to the wall of the adjacent motel room accompanied by a low rumbling groan.

Dean’s ears pricked to the consensual struggling noises of two people frantic to expose more skin.

Both brothers grimaced in unison at the muffled growl of your name reverberating through the thin walls.

“You know what Sammy, I think I might be hungry after all,” Dean stood, nonchalantly brushing the front of his jeans.

“Yeah, same,” Sam grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair as they fled the room.


End file.
